


Picture Perfect

by oswhine



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswhine/pseuds/oswhine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctors treats Clara to a beautiful surprise - a winter wonderland. But is it too perfect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before Season 8 but I still like it a lot. I hope you do too. <3

It was a Wednesday afternoon. 2:58pm. The December sky outside was pale gray. Clara sat at the kitchen island, clutching a lukewarm mug of tea with white knuckles, the colour of when you’re expecting someone but not quite sure if they’re coming. She was already wearing her shoes, her coat. She sat there, still, listening.

 Then – the familiar gasping sound leaked in through the cracks in the walls, and warm relief flowed through her, and she leapt up, skipping as if she were a little girl again. The door shut behind her. The mug sat abandoned on the countertop.

 Clara pushed open the blue door of the police box, dancing into the TARDIS, all dimples and bouncy hair. The Doctor grinned up at her from the console where he was flicking switches.

 “Where do you want to go today?” He asked, the gleam of adventure bright in his eyes. Her gaze met his over the console, their faces tinged blue from the light.

 “Show me – show me something _amazing_.”

 “Right! Amazing, amazing, amazing for Clara Oswald!” His moment of stillness and listening was broken and he was all over the place again, sliding across the floor, adjusting dials, pulling switches. The TARDIS came to life, whirring and flashing, much like her pilot at the prospect of a new adventure. She seemed glad to be going again, as if waiting unnerved her. Just like the Doctor. Always going.

 For Clara, the excitement of being inside the TARDIS was enough to amaze her. But she knew the Doctor liked to show off – he needed someone to impress almost like humans needed air and water. He would stop going if no one was there. Still.

 The TARDIS stopped and Clara looked at the door, heart pumping with the anticipation, her mind cycling through the millions of possibilities that could be waiting for them. This was the held-breath moment. The Doctor watched her. That’s what he lived for, that look of wonder and excitement on her face.

 “Well,” he said, “Let’s go take a look-see.” He extended his arm to her, and inside, Clara laughed at the old fashioned gesture. But she took his arm seriously, and together, both smiling, they stepped out of the TARDIS.

 It was snowing outside, the flakes catching in their hair. It was the image of a perfect winter wonderland – they were standing on the top of a hill, overlooking a frozen pond where people dressed in primary colours were skating, looping gracefully as if carving secret messages in cursive into the ice. Beyond the pond was a village which looked like a Christmas card, brick cottages nestled in the snow, warm yellow lights shining from their windows.

 “Where are we, Doctor?” Asked Clara, spinning to face him. She’d stepped out of his grip to admire the view. It really was picture perfect. It filled her heart with a content warmth, a feeling she remembered from childhoods snuggled up between her mum and dad in front of the fire, Bing Crosby playing in the background. Her mum had loved Bing Crosby. Then she noticed – “It’s not cold. It’s snowing, but it’s not cold. How does that work, Doctor?”

 “Of course it isn’t,” he said in his exasperated genius voice, flicking his sonic screwdriver around. It shone a green halo on the snow.

 "Why not?”

 He took her arm again, guided her to look another time over the cosy valley. “Look. Have you ever seen anything so perfect in your life? In real life, have you seen anything that comes near this?”

 She shook her head.

 “Of course not. The answer, Clara, why is it not cold, why is it so perfect – I think you might know already. We’re in _a snow globe_!” She could just see he’d been waiting for that moment, the reveal, like a magician performing his big trick. His face broke into a look of pure delight and he reached down to toss a handful of snow in the air. Clara laughed, but then looked down again at the people skating.

 “But those are real people, aren’t they?”

 “Yes, yes they are! You see, it’s this holiday dream idea thingy from the future – perfect getaways, simulated for your enjoyment. ‘It’s always Christmas in the globe.’ It’s an all sensory experience without the discomfort, mostly. Down in the village they have traditional carollers and even pipe out scents, peppermint and gingerbread and everything nice.”

 He was about to go on, but Clara cut him off. “Can we go down there?”

 “That’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hill behind him, both of them squealing with glee.

 They explored the village, eating freshly baked sugar cookies with hot cocoa, skating on the pond. Everyone had flushed pink cheeks despite it not being cold, faces split with happy smiles.

 The Doctor surprised Clara by being an exceptional figure skater. She had expected him to be awkward and a little off balance, like his walking became when he was excited, and his dancing.  “I trained with the best!” He called back at her as he skated off, “Sonja Henie, wonderful girl and three time Olympic gold winner!”

 She smiled at his back, making her own tentative way. The Doctor was always full of surprises. Then she faltered, dizzy. She fell onto the ice. Her head was aching as though a hundred tiny ice skaters were cutting their way across it. The Doctor saw, and tried to skate over to her.

 “Let’s see, if only I can remember how to stop. I think our lesson got cut short, something about the Ice Warriors wanting to freeze Earth into an eternal winter…” He slipped and fell down next to her, but tried to pretend that he’d done it on purpose. “Are you okay, Clara?”

 “I feel a little dizzy. And my head _hurts_ …”

 “Ah yes, I should have mentioned, you should only spend a couple hours here, after a while the sensory overload gets to be a bit much. Too much perfection hurts - remember that, Clara.” Carefully, he helped her up and led her back to the TARDIS, slowly this time.

 At the top of the hill, Clara glanced back once more at the perfect, picturesque scene. After a day, this would all feel like a dream to her. Nothing real could be so perfect. By then she’ll have forgotten the intensity of her headache, the lump in her throat. But in that last glance, she captured the image of the little valley in her mind, just like a picture.


End file.
